


Interlude (The Space Between Breaths)

by freefall



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Drabble, M/M, POV Second Person, Pre-Slash, potentially one-sided, rated Mature for swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-14
Updated: 2012-08-14
Packaged: 2017-11-12 02:31:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/485699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freefall/pseuds/freefall
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Later, when the fight is over and the wounds are bandaged, and it’s just you and Mickey again in the hull of an abandoned warehouse, the only light coming from some flickering candles and the only warmth from the slow heat of cheap gin in your stomach, is when he asks.  ‘Course he asks, and you realize that somewhere along the way he had learned you just as well as you learned him (and how is that even fair when he didn’t have the advantage of knowing his parallel universe self, but he did it anyway. Bloody Mickey.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interlude (The Space Between Breaths)

**Author's Note:**

> My first posting at AO3 and my first Doctor Who fic. Also my first experimentation with Second Person POV. Jake's, to be specific.

The thing is, the _thing is_ you still can’t, to this day, pinpoint exactly when it happened.  At first he was just a fake, an imposter, barely tolerable because at least he got the job done, and then- And then what?

Somehow, somewhere, some _time_ they got from there to here.

Here is back-to-back in the middle of a fucking Cybermen apocalypse shoot-out and you know where he is going to move before he does it, and are already moving to compensate before you think it.  And then you realize-

You were never even this close with Ricky.

What the hell?

And then a laser gets uncomfortably close to your face and, with a flinch and a cuss, you are out of your mind and into the present again. 

Later, when the fight is over and the wounds are bandaged, and it’s just you and Mickey again in the hull of an abandoned warehouse, the only light coming from some flickering candles and the only warmth from the slow heat of cheap gin in your stomach, is when he asks.  ‘Course he asks, and you realize that somewhere along the way he had learned you just as well as you learned him (and how is that even fair when _he_ didn’t have the advantage of knowing his parallel universe self, but he did it anyway. Bloody Mickey.)

“What the hell happened back there, mate?” he asks, frowning, and you know that frown.  It’s the slightly annoyed but more worried “ _something’s up and it’s probably not good”_ frown that you have seen a thousand times in a hundred cities and you can’t stop yourself from grinning.  (Ricky wouldn’t have asked, you can’t help thinking, he wouldn’t have noticed and he wouldn’t have cared, and you don’t want to disrespect the dead but still- it’s true.) 

And this is when you figure out that you know Mickey better than you ever knew Ricky and- you’re a right idiot, aren’t you?

He’s still waiting for your answer, but now his frown has turned into the “ _he’s a right idiot but I like him anyway_ ” smirk, looking at you smiling to yourself, and fuck it, just because the world’s falling into flames doesn’t mean you can’t be happy, does it? And besides, they’re saving the world because they’re badass motherfuckers (Mickey’s words, not yours) so it’s all good.

“Seriously, what’s going on in your head?” Mickey asks, candlelight dancing over his face.

“Nothing,” you shrug, grinning like a fool but you can’t help it.  “Or at least, nothing I shouldn’t have known already.”

And you feel like you could tell him now, but you restrain yourself.  Even though you know for sure Mickey is infinitely different from Ricky, and so is what you feel for him, who knows what _he_ feels.  There’s still Rose and all, and you are fine with what you have now, really.  Somehow, even though Rose dated Mickey and _watched him grow up_ for fuck’s sake, you still persist in thinking (hoping- _knowing_ ) that you have something that she never had and perhaps never will.

And sure enough, Mickey knows you well enough not to ask.  He passes you the bottle.

“Australia next, yeah?” he asks and you grin at him, unrestrained and not hiding anything (except that one little, practically unimportant thing) because what’s the point, he knows it all anyway.

“Yeah,” you agree, even though it was rhetorical.  “I’ve always wanted to try surfing, you know.”

“I know,” he answers, and that’s that.  And it’s enough.


End file.
